


Day 6: Swords

by Erengalad



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erengalad/pseuds/Erengalad
Summary: Hardly half a scene, with everyone having fun with pointy sticks.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Day 6: Swords

Once, not so long ago, he’d thought he would never walk down the long corridors of the hôtel the Larroque again, but the Queen and her spies had proved him wrong.

It had been mere days since Ninon’s banishment had come to an end, and though she had expressed her wishes to return to the countryside once her affairs were in order, Parisian life had claimed her for some weeks.

Or rather, her Parisian library had claimed her, for she had to be enticed with some very good plans to leave her beloved books behind.

Athos opened the door silently, spying the two heads peaking behind a chair’s back, surely huddled together over a book. There was a small pile of them in an adjacent table, along with two glasses of white wine.

“You two,” he called, coming around to block the light from the window, “out.”

Ninon took her time to tear her gaze away from the book. Sylvie rolled her eyes. Both of them exhaled as one, wearily, at the interruption, and Athos could only but smirk.

“We were reading important things,” Sylvie informed him.

“And Paris can wait,” Ninon said, all too eager to return to their book.

“Constance cannot.” Athos crossed his arms. Since those two had begun to share their days together immersed in whatever book, discussion or song, he found himself scolding them like little children and reminding them they had to stop to eat, or sleep, or whatever other activity the day called for. Athos, among all people.

But the presence of that young woman downstairs seemed like a good enough reason to convince them, for Ninon and Sylvie shared a look, shrugged, and then began to move.

“I swear I don’t know hoy you two can be comfortable sitting on the same chair.”

“Says Monsieur I-don’t-know-what-a-backrest-is?” Ninon smiled, her hand light on his arm. “Let us go, then. I hope your plans are more satisfactory than the works of Epicurus, Athos.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes.

“It involves swords.”

It was not only Constance waiting downstairs, but also Aramis, Porthos, d’Artagnan and a well assorted selection of blades. As they arrived, they noticed Constance had brought over some padded jackets, much in the style of the short gambesons the musketeers used in their trainings.

“Constance and Ninon already know how to wield a sword,” Athos began, his attention drifting to Sylvie. “Do you?”

“Why do we need to learn this?” she demanded. “Ninon and I won’t…”

“Will you stop getting yourselves in trouble?” When silence ensued, Athos’s smirk broadened. “I guess not.”

“Here’s to hoping you won’t need these useful skills,” Aramis chimed in, offering her one of the jackets. He then turned to Ninon. “When did you learn?”

Ninon smiled softly and accepted her own jacket, resigned to spend the afternoon with a blade in her hands. Once upon a time, she would’ve been thrilled at the prospect; right then… it would at least be fun to watch the musketeers’ antics.

“I was ten and I had decided I did not want to be raised as a lady. My father entertained my wishes,” she said, putting her gloves on. “But I fear I have not practised since I was a teenager. Which one of you will have the dubious honour of dancing with my sword, gentlemen?”

“I’m with Constance,” d’Artagnan said immediately.

“You’re with Sylvie,” Athos countered. “Constance is with Aramis.”

Constance’s eyes gleamed and she tried to suppress a smile, all politeness when she saluted Aramis with her own blade. In all honesty, right then she welcomed the distance Athos had just ensured between her and the Gascon; a conversation was pending between them, but she was not really willing to finish her day like that.

“No! Really?” Aramis complained.

“I won’t punch you again,” Constance promised, though the mischief she could barely keep at bay told another story.

“She might enjoy herself too much,” Porthos chuckled. “That leaves the two of us, comtesse.”

“Ninon,” she corrected. “Are you keeping a tab on how many times she hits him?

“Ninon, _please_.”

“We keep tabs on many things,” d’Artagnan supplied. “When those red ears of his can’t hear us, of course.”

“My ears are adorable and can hear you,” Aramis huffed.

“Gentlemen! Ladies!”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes... more things in the Wait & Hope verse.


End file.
